


slow dance

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Future Fic, Humour and Angst, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara thinks they and Asriel have been dating for about a year, but they're not entirely sure. Then they get an opportunity to find out. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow dance

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for slight codependent thinking, anxiety, and brief references to trauma, past abuse, and self-harm
> 
> chara and asriel are about 15 in this and frisk is 12-13. toriel and asgore are separated and the kids primarily live with toriel, but, I mean, they regularly visit asgore and asgore often comes goes to see them so things are cool even though he's not actually in this fic

You and Asriel have been dating for nearly a year now.

You think.

You say 'you think' because you don't actually know. There was never any sort of formal agreement made between the two of you, by which you mean that neither one of you had ever actually gotten around to asking the other person out.

Sure, Asriel had turned into a gigantic rainbow Angel of Death for you (which _had_ been kind of romantic), and he'd told you that he cared about you more than anybody else (which had definitely not made you cry). Some might say that was tantamount to a confession of love, and you'd be inclined to agree.

You, meanwhile, had waited until the two of you had finally gotten your bodies back to tell him that you felt the same way, not wanting to have had to convey such an important message through Frisk. His response had been pretty emotional. Some might say that was tantamount to a confirmation of love, and on that point you would _definitely_ agree, because you were the one who had actually done it and you knew what you were about, okay.

By 'pretty emotional', you mean that there had been a ton of hugging and crying and "I love you"s. You'd been so unguarded during the whole thing that you'd wound up being a lot more open about your feelings than usual, and so you'd hoped that Asriel had somehow actually managed to pick up on your intentions for once instead of being as oblivious as he usually is. But Frisk had been _right there_ , meaning that you hadn't really had a chance to ask. As much as you love Frisk, it would've been kind of weird to have asked Asriel if he was your boyfriend now right there in front of them when you weren't even sure if he wanted to be your boyfriend in the first place.

Since then, there had been plenty of hand-holding and cheek-kissing and general cuddling between the two of you. If you were to ask anybody else, they'd probably say you _were_ dating, if only because of the sheer amount of PDA you managed to get through in a single day.

But that's the part that's most confusing for you - what exactly made the inclusion of that kind of stuff any different than the way your relationship had been before? The two of you had always been unusually close, and even before your...well, deaths, you and Asriel had spent almost all of your free time in each other's company.So what did _that_ mean? Had the two of you _always_ been dating? Had _you_ been the oblivious one all along?

Thinking about it made your head hurt, but you _needed to know._ The two of you couldn't keep sleeping in the same bed forever if you were going down the platonic route. That would just make things awkward. More awkward than they already were. You needed to get this settled.

Still. You're pretty sure the two of you are dating. He'd basically told you that he _love_ -loved you, and it had definitely been a pretty dramatic confession; if you'd had your own corporeal form at the time and hadn't been so busy trying to keep Frisk alive, you might have even swooned a little, and you were totally not the swooning type. And you _had_ eventually gotten around to responding, even if it _had_ taken a little while, so it's not _your_ fault if he'd misunderstood something.

You really hope the two of you are dating.

* * *

The first time you hear about the gala is over breakfast.

Asriel is cooking something on the stove and you and your bowl of cereal are keeping him company. There's something fascinating about the way he cooks; he moves so fluidly, so confidently, that it's more fun to watch than it probably should be. You don't know how or when he learned to cook, but you're not going to complain, not when he scrambles some of the best eggs you've ever had. You suppose that's what comes of having someone like Toriel for a mother.

They're not something you're about to give up your Cocoa Puffs for, though. You're satisfied just watching him work from the counter.

For a while, the two of you are alone together, Asriel talking excitedly about one of his many clubs while you listen and eat your cereal. He's in far too many extracurricular activities for you to keep track of them all, but you still like hearing about them. School in general is kind of overwhelming for you, and so you prefer to listen to his stories and imagine yourself working alongside him instead.

Eventually, Toriel manages to get Frisk out of bed and the two of them come downstairs hand-in-hand, Frisk still in their pajamas. Their hair is still a rat's nest, and so you set down your bowl and drag them over to the mirror in order to smooth it down while Toriel goes to help Asriel with breakfast.

When everything's ready, the four of you move into the dining room where you slurp up the remains of your chocolate milk and the other three help themselves to eggs and toast and hash browns. You're the first one done, the way you always are, being a cereal person, and so you rise and gather up your dishes, ready to move back into the kitchen and start the clean-up.

Before you can leave, Toriel says, "Before I forget - we are going to be late this evening, Chara."

You pause in the doorway, turning back to the table. "Late?" you repeat. "Why?"

They'd better not be later than an hour or two. That would be the point where a good kid would be expected to start getting dinner ready, and if they're wanting you to cook ,they'll be sorely disappointed.

Frisk signs _political stuff._ At the same time, Asriel says, "We're having a meeting about the anniversary."

"Right," you repeat, nodding as though you know what they're talking about. You sneak a glance at the calendar on the wall, trying to see if any upcoming dates have been circled. Someone's birthday, maybe?

"The anniversary of the renewed treaty between humans and monsters," Toriel explains, smiling slightly at your poorly-hidden confusion. "There is going to be a gala. A large number of human politicians will be attending. Myself and Asgore shall be attending as well. And as the ambassador, Frisk is coming too, of course."

"Nobody told me about this," you say accusingly, narrowing your eyes at the ambassador in question. They ignore you in favour of licking their plate.

"I did, you just didn't listen," Asriel says mildly. He takes his plate and stands up, sidling past you and into the kitchen, stopping only to rub his cheek on yours. You can feel him smiling through his fur.

"You should've _made_ me listen," you retort.

"You're listening now, aren't you?" he calls back.

Frisk grins. Toriel chuckles. You ignore them both - they're ganging up on you, dammit - and follow Asriel into the kitchen, joining him at the sink.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as he rinses off his plate.You want to do...something. You don't know what. To kiss his cheek, maybe, or to hook your arms with his as you fill the sink. Something cozy and domestic like that. You want to feel close to him, to test the waters of just how far you're allowed to go - are you dating? are you really, really good friends? - but before you can decide what to do, he once again beats you to the punch, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose. You almost squeak in surprise. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, his face still close to yours.

His eyes are so kind. You want to melt in them.

That's probably a weird thought to have. 

"I'm sorry," you murmur, keeping your voice low so that Toriel and Frisk can't hear you. "I can't believe I didn't know about something so important. I should pay more attention to your work."

"It's fine," he replies, voice equally low. "I know it's hard for you."

You nod. Your throat has grown a little tight, and so you don't answer him out loud, but he knows you. He knows you better than anybody else. He knows that thinking about politics and treaties and the stupid _barrier_ is overwhelming for you, even more so than school is, but he doesn't look at you with pity the way the others sometimes do. He just keeps on smiling that stupid sunshine smile of his, and in that moment you really, really love him.

Whatever kind of love you're feeling, it's definitely real and definitely bigger than anything else you've ever felt, platonic or romantic or otherwise.

He's so, so good to you.

You hear Toriel laughing in the dining room. You know that Frisk is probably doing something hilarious or adorable or both, but as much as you'd like to be a part of it, you can't help thinking that you're happier here in the kitchen with Asriel and the dirty dishes than you'd be anywhere else, boyfriend or not.

* * *

As you're saying goodbye to everybody, Asriel pulls you into a sudden hug, the way he often does before you have to go your separate ways these days.

"Sorry," he says, voice muffled from the way he tries to bury his face in your shoulder. He has to really lean over to do this, given the newfound height difference between the two of you, and his horns come dangerously close to jabbing you in the ear. Not that you're complaining. "I'm just...happy you're here."

"Nerd," you mumble, wrapping your arms around him in turn. "You're embarrassing."

But what you really mean is _me too._

You hold each other like that for a moment more, but then he finally pulls away, saying, "I'll be back as soon as possible, okay?"

You nod, but then he's gone and you are left alone.

The day passes quietly. You finish cleaning the kitchen, you vacuum and you dust, you read for a while, you work on the scarf you've been making for Asriel; a kind of _hey congrats on having a body that can feel cold again_ present. It's all just busywork, ways to keep yourself occupied until the others are back from school.

But even though the day is quiet - mostly because there's nobody around for you to talk to - your thoughts are busier than ever. They're nervous, twitchy kind of thoughts, but not in a bad way, not in the way that used to drive you to seek out scissors and tear out your own hair. It's a normal kind of twitchiness, if such a thing can ever be considered normal.

 _A gala, huh?_ you think over the rhythmic clacking of your needles. You frown at the chartreuse wool.

A gala's just a fancy party, right? And Toriel had specifically said that it would be a celebration of the treaty. Not an awards ceremony or a fundraiser, nothing boring like that. So that would mean it would just be a night of dressing up and eating good food and dancing; all fun things.

And if you and Asriel are dating, maybe, then...it'd make sense for you to go with him, right?

Your fingers slip. You drop a stitch. "Fuck."

Then, a moment later: "I mean frick."

Your needles once again begin to click. Your mind once again begins to whirl.

You know shit-all about the parties humans hold these days. You'd been to quite a few yourself back when you were very small, but none of them had been particularly fun.

You shudder. Those are definitely not memories that need revisiting now.

Things have probably changed since then, haven't they? They can't possibly be as bad as they used to be. Besides, _any_ kind of party would be okay if you could go with Asriel. He's great at making you feel safe. Plus, he can be really fun sometimes, even if he's a little timid.

You try to picture it. Asriel all dressed up. Eating a fancy dinner with Asriel. Dancing all night with Asriel.

Your fingers slip yet again. You drop another stitch. "Fuck!"

Then, a moment later, even angrier than before: "Fucking _shit!"_

If the two of you are dating - maybe- then wouldn't it be _expected_ for you to go with him? Is he still supposed to ask you first, or is he just assuming that you will? Do _you_ ask _him?_

You scowl. He probably hasn't asked you because he thinks you don't want to go. After all, you hadn't even known this gala was happening; that was how little attention you paid to this kind of political stuff. It'd be easy for someone to mistake your lack of awareness for a lack of interest.

So maybe you _should_ ask him. That way, you can let him know you that you care. Even if you can be a little prickly sometimes, it's not like you totally hate this kind of thing. 

But how would you go about asking him?

Hmm.

Who could you ask for help? Who did you know that didn't totally suck at romance?

* * *

The moment everybody walks through the door after school that day, you seize Frisk by the wrist and drag them upstairs, shoving them into your bedroom and locking the door. You pointedly ignore the way Asriel whines at the bottom of the stairs over your failure to greet him; you're doing this for _him,_ dammit.

Frisk doesn't seem to be even remotely surprised by your behaviour, merely plopping themselves down on the many-times-vacuumed carpet that you may or may not have been stress-vacuuming earlier.

"I need help," you say through gritted teeth.

 _I'm ready for anything,_ they sign, expression stoic.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

Better make it quick.

"How do I ask a person out?" you ask.

Despite how rushed the question is - _howdoIaskapersonout?_ \- they seem to understand you perfectly. Their eyes light up and they spring to their feet. You notice that they're still wearing their mud-caked outdoor shoes, and god _dammit_ you'll have to vacuum again.

 _Who is it? Who do you like?_ they ask, and your face turns very, very red, but before you can answer they shake their head. _Never mind,_ they say. _it doesn't matter. I'll be right back!_

They bound out the door and return a moment later with a book. I stole this from the library! they sign, looking far more proud of themselves than such an admission really warrants. It's great! I got, like, five different people to agree to go out with me with it!

This time, you really do roll your eyes. "You're a little kid," you say with as much disdain as you can possibly muster. "Your idea of going out with someone is pushing each other one the swings."

Frisk sticks their tongue out at you. _I'm not a kid. You're not much older than me, you know._

Okay, fine, that's true, but whatever. You need to salvage your pride _some_ how, seeing as how you're the one asking the aforementioned little kid for romantic advice.

You take the book from their outstretched hands, opening it to the table of contents and beginning to read.

You frown.

"Wait," you say. "I've seen this book before."

Frisk gives you a thumbs-up, grinning.

* * *

You spend the entire night reading _The Official Dating Rulebook._

* * *

When you go to talk to Asriel the next day, you're wearing clothing, you have a gift (half of a leftover chocolate bar, taken from your emergency chocolate stash), and you have everything you're going to say memorized and even written on your palm so that there's no chance of you flubbing it.

In your eagerness to start, you end up barging into his room first thing in the morning when he's still groggy and struggling to crawl out from under his blankets. He seems confused but happy about your sudden presence in his room, drowsily reaching out to you and calling your name before letting his arm fall and dangle over the edge of the bed.

That is when you see that he's wearing his pajamas with the little sunflowers, the really really cute ones.

You panic.

You forget your speech entirely, settling for shoving the chocolate into his mouth. As he chokes on it, you say, "I want to go to the gala. If you're going, I should go."

He somehow manages to swallow the chocolate while lying down. "All right," he says, sleepily wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I'll tell mom."

You storm out of the room before you can say anything else, trying to convince yourself that everything has gone according to plan.

 _He agreed,_ you tell yourself later when you're back in your room, lying on your bed and hugging your pillow to your chest like a giddy teenager - which, admittedly, you kind of are.

He agreed to a dating kind of thing, and you'd totally asked him in a non-ambiguous way, so that means the two of you are definitely, officially dating now.

So there.

* * *

The night of the gala creeps up on you. One day you're following your everyday routine - endlessly knitting scarves for everyone you know, pretending to help Frisk with their homework when really you're just bored, throwing clumps of dirt at Asriel so that he can practice destroying them with his magic. Normal, everyday stuff. The next, you're in Frisk's bedroom, sitting at their dressing table and letting them paw at your hair with their tiny fingers.

Your only rules had been _no dresses_ and _no makeup._ Frisk hadn't seemed particularly bothered about either one of your caveats, apparently more than happy just to have an excuse to touch your hair. _Isn't this exciting?_ they say in-between running their fingers through it.

(You refuse to admit how nice that feels.)

You want to answer yes, but you're too busy worrying that you might throw up to do anything but offer them a tense smile through the mirror.

You're already dressed in the suit they'd picked out for you, which may or may not have been a relic from a thrift shop. It's old and soft, but it fits your lanky frame surprisingly well, clinging to you like a shadow.

Despite how comfortable it is, you couldn't help but tense up a little when you'd first seen yourself in the mirror.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you'd asked them. You know approximately nada about fashion, outside of what you've learned for your knitting, meaning that you don't know the first thing about how to tell if a suit is high-quality or not. Still, it's easy to move in, which probably mean it's grossly inappropriate for a formal party.

But Frisk had only snorted. _Monsters are going to be there,_ they'd said. _Half of them won't be wearing clothes at all. You'll be fine._

Their own outfit is a patchwork of colours and styles; one of the sweaters you'd made them ages ago coupled with that dusty old tutu and a bowtie, as though the presence of a tie somehow makes the rest of it acceptable. Their feet are adorned with brightly-coloured tights and high-top shoes, and their hair is loose, fanning their face like a halo. They look exactly like a little kid who'd been told to wear whatever the hell they wanted to. They look ridiculous. They look adorable.

In comparison, you look perfectly ordinary. Kind of plain, but in a good way. A comfortable way.

It's kind of shocking, actually, considering how outrageously Frisk tended to dress themselves when they had a choice. The suit they'd picked for you is dark, simple and understated, while your hair has been neatly pinned up in the back, the locks framing your face left hanging loose and softening all your sharp angles. When you look in the mirror, you still look like you, but it's an elegant you. Something that won't necessarily embarrass anyone.

 _Do you want any jewelry or accessories or anything?_ Frisk asks as you examine your reflection.

"No," you say as quickly as you can. You're already wearing your locket; after all, you never take it off. Anything more would ruin your contentment with your look. As it is, you can still breathe.

_Are you nervous?_

"Not really," you lie. The truth is, you think you might die.

Frisk pats your head. _It'll be fine._

They're right, you tell yourself. They _have_ to be right, because it's far too late for you to back out now. You're the one who'd asked to come, and now you're all dressed up, and if you try to back out you'll just feel horrible and ungrateful, more so than you already do.

You and Frisk descend the staircase hand-in-hand. You try to pretend that it's because _they're_ the nervous one, ignoring how they're practically skipping down the stairs in excitement while you yourself are dragging your feet as though they're made of cement.

Toriel and Asriel are waiting in the foyer, both of them dressed in violet robes emblazoned with the Delta Rune. Toriel is fussing with Asriel's collar in a particularly motherly way as he makes an exaggerated expression of irritation, but then you and Frisk appear, and they both seem to forget about what they're doing in favour of staring at you.

"Oh!" Toriel gasps, clasping her hands together. "You both look _wonderful!"_

"It's nothing special," you say.

Meanwhile, Frisk runs towards her and throws their arms around her waist. She catches them and lifts them into the air, kissing their nose while Frisk squeals.

"We need to take a photo before we leave!" Toriel declares as she sets them back down. "We must commemorate how grown-up you all look! Where is my camera? Do any of you..."

Somehow, Frisk manages to pull Toriel's camera out of nowhere, and then the three of you are herded towards the door.

Asriel stands beside and Frisk stands in front of you, beaming.

"Are we going to prom or something?" you mutter.

Asriel snorts and you sneak a sidelong glance at him. He's not looking at you, instead gazing obediently forward towards the camera, but he's grinning the way he always grins when you've said something that he thinks is funny.

Something warm blooms inside your chest. On an impulse, you bump his hand with yours. He instantly laces your fingers together and squeezes. You squeeze back.

When Toriel is finally satisfied and the four of you are finally heading out the door, he turns to you and says, "You look really nice."

"Well, _you_ look like a dork," you reply.

You instantly regret it. Thankfully, he doesn't cry or even seem particularly hurt. He just laughs. "Yeah, I know," he says, lifting his arms and flapping the baggy sleeves of his robes. "I didn't really have a choice. _You_ still look nice."

You swallow. You could say something sarcastic, you could insult him, you could ignore him entirely. But you don't do any of those things. Instead, you say "Thanks."

He beams, and for the first time all evening you're able to properly smile back, anxiety forgotten.

* * *

The actual event is taking place in some government building that you're totally unfamiliar with, but that doesn't matter. Upon entering, you're instantly transported back into the Underground. The walls of the ballroom are covered in banners depicting the Delta Rune - along with a smattering of human flags that you don't care about - and the tall black ceiling resembles a starry sky because of the sheer number of twinkling lights that have been strewn about. Everything is strange and dark and glittering, and somewhere in the distance you can here the sound of falling water; a fountain, likely. It reminds you of Waterfall, and for a moment, you almost feel at home.

That sense of familiarity is quickly forgotten in favour panic. There are far, far too many people here. The humans are all glittering, just like the room itself, dressed in luxurious gowns and tuxedos and talking in that high, silvery way that particularly wealthy humans so like to speak in. The monsters, at least, have a little more variety - some are dressed in austere cloaks resembling sacks, while others are dressed like peacocks, their clothing so heavily embroidered and in so many colours that it almost hurts to look at them. Others are wearing nothing at all, just like Frisk had said. Unlike the humans, they're all loud and laughing, openly squealing and shrieking as they catch sight of their friends and families.

You wish, not for the first time, that you had been born a monster. You wish you could share their abandon, but no matter how hard you try to emulate it, you can never quite reach it.

You stay close to Asriel and Frisk as the three of you follow Toriel. You try to keep yourself as small as possible. Your limbs are rigid, your movements stiff.

You already feel out of place. The others all have official business to attend to; you're just a fifth wheel. This was a mistake, you think, this was stupid, this was...

But Frisk once again takes your hand, and Asriel glances back at you, giving you another sweet smile.

You take a deep breath.

You will be okay. You're with them, and you will be okay.

The evening proper starts with a dinner. Your options are either to sit at the head table with the Dreemurrs and Frisk, thereby earning the attention of every human and monster in attendance, or to sit at one of the ordinary tables amidst a crowd of semi-strangers, utterly alone. The choice had been almost impossible for you to make, but in the end you chose to sit with Asriel and Frisk, if only because you trusted them to help you calm down without making a scene if you started seriously panicking at any point.

Dinner winds up being pretty easy, you find, as you're mostly able to ignore the eyes of others in favour of focusing on the food. Half of the dishes available are human dishes, mostly different kinds of beef and chicken and pork. Boring stuff. The other half are monster dishes, most of which you barely recognize outside of the ones involving snails.All of them are delicious, in your opinion.

"You don't have to try _everything_ ," Asriel laughs when he sees the face you make after taking a bite of something that may or may not have been typha.

"Whatever, goat boy," you say. Probably not your most creative retort, but you're trying really, really hard not to say or do anything particularly stupid tonight, and accidentally making him cry would definitely qualify as stupid. Normally, behaving isn't much of a priority for you, but hell, this is your family. This is Asriel.

(You kinda sorta want him to be impressed with you.)

(God, go _away,_ corny thoughts.)

To distract yourself, you reach across the table, spearing something from his plate with your fork. You don't bother checking what it is before you pop it in your mouth. Whatever it is, it's salty.

"Hey!" Asriel protests. You offer him a smirk in exchange, and in retaliation, he reaches across the table and does the exact same thing to your own playe before offering you a smirk of his own.

You spend the rest of the meal picking off each other's plates, ignoring the stern looks that Toriel and Asgore send you from down the table. You also choose to pretend that you can't see the exaggerated thumbs-up Frisk is giving you, as you're too busy letting your sudden giddiness go to your head.

* * *

Dinner seems to last forever. The meal itself is short, but then it's followed by speech after speech about peace and interspecies cooperation and all kinds of other boring shit that you seriously don't want to think about. You guess you should've expected this to be a part of it, but you're not very good at thinking things through.

 _None of this is my responsibility,_ you tell yourself. _I don't have to care about any of this._ It's hard work, reminding yourself of that over and over again, but you need to; if you don't, you'll have an anxiety attack. Hell, the very mention of the word _barrier_ is like a punch to the gut.

Beside you, Asriel seems a little tense as well; you wonder if it's for the same reasons. You want to do something comforting, the way he always does for you, but you feel kind of... _shy_ at the thought of hugging him or taking his hand in yours. 

God, you feel _shy._ How lame. What a lame emotion.

You fume silently through the rest of the speeches, until finally you're allowed to leave the table.

"I have to do some royal stuff with mom and dad now," Asriel tells you as the two of you rise. "But I'll find you later, okay? Wait for me."

There's something curiously intense about his expression when he says that, something that only seems to loosen when you nod and his face is once again able to relax into his usual smile.

For a moment, you wonder if he's going to nuzzle your cheek or something, but he merely waves before disappearing.

That's fine, though. It'd be embarrassing in front of this many people.

You don't look for Frisk when you leave. You're too busy thinking of finding somewhere to wait. _I need to do this properly, I can't screw it up._

As a result, you almost become lost in the crowd of people filing onto the dance floor. Finally you make it to the edge of the room. Once there, you do your best to resist the urge to try and blend into the wallpaper. You settle for praying that nobody will speak to you, even if they have to see you.

An ensemble composed of a shoal of squids and a single human being play an overture. You briefly wonder how the hell a squid is playing a cello that well.

You're so lost in keeping an eye on your surroundings that you don't see Frisk approaching until they're right in front of you, waving for your attention.

"Oh, hi," you say when you finally notice them. Your palms are sweating. You curl and uncurl your fingers.

You don't exactly know what Asriel is doing with his parents or when he'll come and find you, but you know what's _supposed_ to come next; the ensemble is only cycling through the overture in anticipation of the actual dancing, when they'll finally be allowed to play real music, and when that starts, you'll...

Frisk bumps their shoulders against yours. _Did you see Mettaton?_ they sign. _I think he's mad that we didn't let him perform tonight._

"Why didn't you?" you ask. Mettaton could be obnoxious sometimes, but it's not like his music was particularly bad.

 _We didn't think it'd suit the atmosphere we're going for,_ Frisk says with a shrug.

"What atmosphere is that?" you ask.

You're trying to be polite, but you don't really care about how they chose the music for tonight. You're too distracted by thoughts of what you'll _do_ with that music. Then again, you think Frisk probably knows that; odds are they're just trying to distract you from your nerves with inane conversation.

 _Hoity-toity,_ they offer after a moment of serious thought. 

"Well, you did a good job," you mutter, eyeing the glittering throng around you. Everyone has already broken up into little groups, leaving you, Frisk, and a handful of other loners on the outskirts of everything.

 _We gotta impress these guys with how sophisticated monsters can be,_ you know, Frisk says, once again bumping shoulders. _A lot of them still think they live under bridges and eat worms._

"Some of them _do,_ " you reply. Hell, you can name three off the bat.

 _They don't need to know that,_ Frisk replies with a wink, but there's something tired in their eyes when they say that.

You frown.

You know Frisk is joking, mostly, but you still feel yourself bristling at the thought of one of these random snobs looking down on the monsters who'd been your friends and family for ages.

(If anyone says anything mean about Asriel, you'll kill them.)

You drum your fingers against your folded arms.

"Where's...?" you begin.

 _He should be here soon,_ Frisk replies before you can finish, as though reading your mind. 

Then, right on cue, the crowd bursts into applause. Suddenly, there they are.

You'd been thinking of the humans as glimmering, but the Dreemurrs are in a separate category altogether. They shine in their crowns and royal dress, making you think of a family of stars.

Asriel in particular looks almost... _grown-up,_ somehow, just like Toriel had said back home. When you'd seen him then, he'd looked like a little kid playing dress-up, fussing like a child under his mother's gaze. Now, in the middle of the real thing, you can see there's something genuinely regal about the way he carries himself.

He's a _prince,_ you realize. It almost hurts to look at him.

For a moment, they - Asriel - are all you can see, but then they're gone, swallowed whole by the crowd of monsters gathering around them and cheering.

You swallow. You swallow again. Your mouth is very, very dry, suddenly.

"Maybe I should. Go to him," you say.

Your words are stilted. You don't want to navigate this crowd, you don't want to be so close to so many humans, but you also don't want to lose Asriel to them. He had said he'd find you when he was done, but what if...

 _I was just about to go myself,_ Frisk signs. _Wanna come with?_

You take a deep, steadying breath.

"No, it's okay," you say as firmly as you can. "I can do this alone."

Frisk flaps their hand dismissively, signing, _It's fine. I really was about to get him. The musicians are probably getting desperate for something new to play anyway._

You've already taken a step forward with Frisk at your side.

At this, you freeze.

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?" you demand, whirling around to look at them.

Frisk cocks their head, looking puzzled. _I need to get him for the dance, duh._

"What dance?"

 _I'm the human ambassador and he's the prince of monsters,_ they sign. They're going very, very slowly now, as though you're an idiot who needs things explained to them very, very carefully instead of someone who's only hearing this for the very first time. Or are you? Fuck, you're always tuning this shit out, is this something you're supposed to know? What the hell else haven't you been listening to?

 _We're supposed to be the ones to start the dancing. It's a symbolic thing,_ Frisk says. _And the musicians can't play anything new until we're ready to go._

They offer an exaggerated shrug, as though asking, _get it now?_

You get it. You definitely get it. You nod, to show them just how much you get it, and then you start to laugh, because gosh, what a silly mistake to make! Of course that's what's going to happen. Of course Frisk gets to have the first dance with Asriel.

Heck, you'll probably barely even get to see him tonight, now that you really think about it! You'd just gotten lucky at dinner. This is part of his job, after all. He'll be too busy acting as a princely symbol of hope along with perfect little Frisk to even notice you. And as for you, you have _literally no reason to even be here._

 _Are you okay?_ Frisk asks, suddenly looking alarmed.

"I'm fine!" you reply. You're still giggling, and you _might_ be shouting just a tiny bit, judging from the way Frisk flinches and the way one particularly large-eared monster turns to stare at you. "I'm fine," you repeat, a little quieter this time. "I just. Don't know what I was expecting. It was dumb of me to get my hopes up."

 _I'm sorry,_ they say, looking nervous. _I thought you knew. You can still dance with him later. I promise I'm not trying to mess things up for you and Asriel._

"What do you mean, _mess things up?_ " you demand, hackles rising for the second time that night.

At this, they raise their eyebrows. _You like Asriel, right?_

There's something terrifyingly matter-of-fact about the way they sign that.

"No!" you shout. This time, your voice is raised entirely on purpose. The large-eared monster jumps.

It might be true, that you like Asriel, but you don't need _Frisk,_ stupid, perfect little Frisk who can do everything so _easily,_ who can make everyone love them so quickly, rubbing your idiotic crush in your idiotic face when you can already tell that you've just been deluding yourself, that you couldn't possibly deserve anything as good as Asriel.

Frisk reaches out to you; you can feel their hands on your sleeve, but you shrug them off and then you're gone.

* * *

You skirt the dance floor as you make your escape, somehow managing to weave your way through the crowd with minimal contact. You don't know where you're going yet, only that you need to get _out,_ get _away._ Get yourself together, mostly. You'll be fine if you can just have some time away from everybody.

Especially Frisk. Especially Asriel.

You end up stumbling into a wing adjacent to the ballroom. You're not entirely sure what purpose it has. A breakroom, maybe? If so, perfect. What you need right now, more than anything else, is a break.

The room is dimly lit and empty save for some low couches and tables, but you don't think you can handle a couch right now. You don't want comfort, you want something solid to keep you grounded, and so you wind up crouching in a corner, hugging your knees to your chest.

You feel like a fool. You feel like a child. Look at you, throwing a tantrum because you don't get to have the first dance with your...

Your _what?_ You keep trying to tell yourself that you've _proven_ something, one way or another, that you've actually figured this out, but what have you actually proven? That Asriel is kind? That Asriel is loving? That Asriel is far, far better than you deserve?

You already knew all that.

You hear a round of applause coming from the ballroom and your heart sinks. They're probably starting now. They really didn't need you there at all. You shouldn't have come.

You wonder if you can find your way home in the dark. Even if you can, you don't have keys to let yourself in with. Maybe you can just live in the backyard from now on.

In retrospect, it's probably because you're so busy sulking that you don't hear the opening of the door or the approach of padded footsteps.

"Found you," comes a soft voice, and Asriel crouches before you. Still in his princely robes, still in his golden crown.

"What are you doing here?" you ask in a monotone.

"I told you I'd find you," Asriel replies, as though it's really just as simple as that. But who knows? Maybe it is, for him. Maybe things _are_ just that easy for good people like him and Frisk. Maybe that's why things have always been so hard for you.

"Go away," you say, voice still a monotone.

"I can't, you're not okay right now."

"No. I'm not."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Where's Frisk?" you ask. Then you cringe. You sound petulant, even to your own ears.

Asriel just looks puzzled. "Did you want them to come instead?" he asks.

You shake your head; you do, but you don't. You've always wanted them before, but now you just feel confused.

"Aren't you supposed to be dancing with them?" you ask dully.

"Last I saw, they were dancing with Monster Kid," Asriel replies. "They were trying to do the can-can, I think. They said it'd be okay if I wanted to come look for you."

You have to laugh at that, but it's weak. Pitiful. "Figures." They've probably won over the entire crowd by now. Had there been so much as a single person in attendance who'd been in doubt as to the value of interspecies cooperation, they were probably convinced the moment Frisk had stepped out onto the dance floor.

You sigh, bringing your hands to your neck, fingering the thin chain of your locket. The heart lays hidden beneath your shirt, but you know that if you draw it out and open it, you will find a picture of you and Asriel as children. Back when _best friends forever_ was more than enough. Back before everything got all complicated.

"You're wearing yours too!" Asriel says happily. He reaches under his robes, drawing out his own locket and holding it up. It catches the moonlight, gleaming. "Best friends forever, right?"

"Yes," you say, voice soft. "Best friends forever."

His face falls slightly at your tone. He scoots even closer.

"What's wrong?" he asks in a voice that you instantly recognize as his Coaxing Voice, the one he always used to use to get his way when you were kids. 

God. You might as well tell him. He's going to get it out of you one way or another.

"I think I'm jealous," you admit.

It kills you to say it out loud, but Asriel looks even more confused than before. "Of what?"

"I don't know. Of Frisk. Of everybody."

You hug your knees a little closer, trying to feel small, trying to not exist. Your breathing is beginning to grow a little rapid, but then he reaches for your hands, gently untangling them from your legs. He squeezes them carefully in a steady rhythm; one, two. One, two. It's an exercise the two of you have done for each other many, many times before, and more from instinct than anything else, you begin to breathe in time.Gradually, your breathing becomes steady.

"I'm awful at these things," you say. You are trembling, but Asriel doesn't let go of your hands. "I just...can't _do_ them. I can't be an ambassador, I can't be a politician. Fuck, I can't even go to _school,_ you know that." You swallow. "It's so easy for Frisk. I wish it could be easy for me, too."

"Not _everything_ is easy for Frisk," he points out.

"I know." God, do you know. You'd seen them at their worst far more times than you could count. But it doesn't seem fair that they get to be so good at these  _social_ things, the _important_ things, when you yourself had to struggle just to be passable. They were the one people liked, they were the one people rallied around, they were the one who deserved -

And then, because you're an idiot, you ask, "Do you like Frisk?"

"Yeah," Asriel says, matter-of-cat. "I like them a lot."

You fall silent. His answer is more or less what you expected, yet you still feel as though you're going to cry.

But then he continues. "It's not the same, though."

" _What's_ not the same?"

"The way I feel about you, and the way I feel about them."

"What makes it different?" 

He's still holding your hands.

You want to memorize the rise and fall of his knuckles and the shape of his fingers intertwined with yours. You don't want to forget them when he finally lets go.

"You're just different people, I guess," Asriel says, shrugging slightly.

Again, so simple. Did things really get to be that easy for some people?

Then, because you apparently haven't put your foot in your mouth quite enough for a single evening, you ask, "Are we dating?"

_"What?"_

Despite everything, the way Asriel's eyes bug out of his head when he shouts that almost makes you laugh out loud for real.

He tries to jump away, but you tighten your grip on his hands and he falls backwards instead, landing with a _thump._ You shift positions, tucking your knees underneath you so that you can lean in close to him, lean in over him. 

"You said you cared about me more than anyone, but is that really true, if you like Frisk too?" you ask. "What kind of caring is it?"

"Chara?"

"The only reason I wanted to come tonight is because it seemed like something a couple would do," you say, pressing forward even further. "I _told_ you that I wanted to go with you, and you said yes."

"You didn't say _that_!" Asriel cries, now indignant. "You said if _I_ was going, _you_ should go! Those are two different things!"

"They're close enough. You should've been able to figure it out."

"I thought you meant you didn't want to be left out! I didn't think..."

"I _meant_ that I wanted to dance with you. I thought you knew that. And then I was told that your first dance was going to be with Frisk. So do you really like me in a different way than Frisk? Or is it the same after all?"

He's gaping at you, looking utterly dumbfounded.

Maybe he didn't hear the question.

"How do you like me, Asriel?" you ask.

He's blushing rather furiously now, and you know that if you didn't have such a tight grip on his hands he'd be covering his face with them right now, trying to hide from you. Trying to hide from the question.

In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of music.

Asriel looks nervous, but at least he's no longer trying to pull his hands free. Instead, he opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it a third time before finally mouthing something you can't quite hear.

"I didn't catch that," you say.

Asriel doesn't repeat himself.

Instead, he leans forward and kisses you.

The kiss sets off fireworks inside of you.

When he finally pulls away, you can see the stars in your eyes reflected in his own.

"It's different," he says, voice hoarse. "I promise."

And Asriel leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

"I care about everyone," he says. "But you're the only one I care about like this."

You can't move. You can't breathe. But. In a good way. In a really, really good way.

You want to stay like this forever, Asriel's forehead on yours, alone together in this empty, moonlit room, the only sound to keep you company being the pounding of your heart.

Except...there, in the distance. The gentle swell of a waltz.

Asriel seems to hear it too, pausing as if to listen. Then he stands, grinning as he pulls you upright along with him.

"What are you doing?" you demand, cheeks growing hot.

"We get to be each other's first dance after all," he says. "Isn't that lucky?"

He slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close, and you rest your head against his chest.

"God, you're embarrassing," you mutter, but what you mean is _yes, yes, yes._

You don't actually know how to dance, but you follow his lead, letting him guide you in a simple waltz; far simpler than what he's actually capable of, you think, but he's doing it for you, he wants you to feel at ease, and you love him so, so much.

Forward, slide, close; forward, slide close, slowly gliding through the empty room. Your every nerve is on fire, your every muscle tense, and you're starting to feel a little dizzy from sheer contact, but you're close to him and you never want to have to let go.

Even if you still don't know what to call this feeling - even if you never really figure it out - you think it might just be exactly what you wanted. 

* * *

When you and Asriel finally return to the ballroom together, the first thing you do is look for Frisk. When you finally find them, you sweep them into a world less, crushing hug. For some reason, they don't seem at all surprised by this. They don't even seem to be upset about your tantrum before. Instead, they just wriggle free and clap you on the shoulder before signing _congratulations!_ and running off towards the snack table.

You really do love Frisk.

* * *

You and Asriel have been dating for about an hour now.

You know this.

You say 'you know' because you'd asked him before leaving the sideroom if he would be your boyfriend. He'd blushed and spluttered and tugged his ears over his face before finally saying _yes_ and giving you a shy kiss on the cheek.

No different than how he usually is, honestly, but still. There's a power in being able to look at him and think _mine._

You spend the rest of the night dancing together under the imitation starry sky of the ballroom.

If others are wondering just how much of the prince's time you intend to monopolize, you don't care. You're just happy to have finally been able to settle something within yourself.

Sort of.

You're really glad the two of you are dating.


End file.
